


Feverish Soul

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Impala, Brothers, Cursed Dean, Episode: s04e06 Yellow Fever, Fear, Gen, Ghost Sickness, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Scared Dean, Sick Dean, Sick Dean Winchester, Soulless Sam Winchester, Yellow Fever Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Dean had contracted ghost sickness while running with Soulless!Sam?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feverish Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosworms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosworms/gifts).



If ever there had been a time when Dean wanted his brother back, it was now. His real brother, not this big hulk masquerading as Sammy. He was a parody of the real Sam. Dean felt like he was being slapped in the face every time the thing smiled at him.

He wasn’t a _thing_. He was Sam. Just…not all of Sam. And in spite of everything, he still loved him. He just couldn’t stand to be in the same car with him, that was all.

For one thing, Sam was scary without a soul.

This had not occurred to him until today. Even after the mess with the fairies, little bastards, he had only been worried about Sam. But now?

Once he had entertained the thought, it would not go away. He was nervous anyway, and he blamed the case they had just wrapped up. Freaking witches. God, he hated witches. They were just disgusting, and what’s worse, they chose to be disgusting. Some things like rugarus, they couldn’t help it. They were born that way. That didn’t mean you didn’t burn the crap out of the bitches when you came across one. It just meant they weren’t so bad as witches.

Besides, witches were just plain scary.

Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter as he pulled onto the side of the road to wait for Sam. He had turned on his blinker about a half mile back, just in case. One could never be too careful when driving a classic. He had rebuilt this beautiful car from the ground up. He was not going to let someone hit it from behind.

A sharp breath caught in his throat when the door swung open suddenly. Sam slid his scary 6’4” mass into the passenger seat, then turned to stare at him. “What?”

“Jesus! You gotta warn a guy before you do that!”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? You want me to knock on my own car door?”

Dean frowned. “It’s my car. And yes.”

“Whatever. This town’s a bust. Let’s go.”

“What are you talking about? There could have been a neon light on the way off the interstate screaming ‘Case Here!’”

Sam shrugged moodily. “There’s nothing here.”

Dean watched his side mirror for nearly a full minute. He had not seen any other cars out this early, but he did not want to get side-swiped in case one did go by as he tried to pull out. “Put your seatbelt on.”

The dark eyes blinked at him. “Yeah. Okay.” Sam searched for the buckle, then lost interest. “Anyway, where to next? Want me to call Samuel?”

“Grandpa Campbell can go a week without us. I want to check into a place and get some rest. Case or no case. I’m not driving on three hours of sleep. Ain’t safe.” Dean swatted at Sam’s reach. “No! The radio will distract my driving. Seriously, are you trying to get us killed?”

Now Sam turned entirely in his seat to stare at him. “Dean, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m keeping us safe, you freaking Borg.”

“You probably need to eat. Want me to drive?”

“No. No I don’t. But yes. I’m hungry. I can’t eat right now. Let’s check into a place and lie down.”

Sam screwed up his nose at this rambling. “Dean, you’re being kind of an idiot. Knock it off. You’re freaking me out.”

“I’m freaking you out? What the hell, Sam? You freak me out! You aren’t even a person!”

“Okay, I think I’m a person.”

“Here. We’re here. I’m parking. Check my mirror for me.”

The younger man took a deep breath. “You’re a complete moron. Okay? I’ll check us in.” He gave one last look of disgust, then jumped out of the car before it had even rolled to a stop.

“Jesus, Sam!” Dean shouted to the slammed door. “You’re going to get yourself killed like that!”

Sam did not turn around, but stalked to the lobby door with a crude gesture behind him.

Dean sighed. He reached for his phone. But who was he going to call? Bobby? And say what? “Sam scares the crap out of me,” he said aloud, then looked around him quickly to be sure he wasn’t overheard. He was still in the sealed car by himself. He gave a breath of relief, and grabbed his duffle out of the backseat to carry inside. He followed Sam into the lobby slowly, watching every movement in the parking lot with suspicion.

His brother was flirting with the woman behind the counter, taking the keys from her hand as if he were caressing her. Dean cringed. Didn’t the guy realize how many germs were on people’s hands? Without meaning to, he spoke up. “Can we get ground floor?”

Sam turned to him with a glower, as if Dean had interrupted an intimate moment. “We always take the fire escape,” he hissed.

The tone made Dean stumble backward. His breathing was shallow and cold. He nearly tripped over his own boots. “Whatever. Whatever you want. That’s cool. I just thought…ground floor looks good. But you’re right. Safer on the second floor.”

“We’re on the fourth floor.”

Dean missed squatting in abandoned houses. “You don’t think that’s a bit…high?”

The dark man in front of him stood to his full, intimidating height. “Really? Dean, I’m going to put your ass on the freaking roof if you don’t drop it.”

Drop off a roof. Lovely. Dean swallowed hard. “Sure. You’re right. What number?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Sweetheart, do you have anything on the second floor? Near the fire escape?”

The redhead smiled up at him. “I’ve got 214 available.” She took his keys back, and exchanged them for another set. Then she slipped another key into his large hand. “And this is to 322. In case you feel like visiting later.”

“You stay here?” Sam grinned.

Dean felt his stomach churning.

“Only sometimes. When I’m working late. And I get off around midnight.”

Sam’s sneer made Dean want to throw up. “Then I guess I’ll be getting off around one,” he stated. His older brother’s eyebrows reached for his hairline.

The woman giggled at his boldness, and a hazel eye winked at her.

Dean followed his brother to the stairs, grateful that they were not going to trust the rickety, dirty hotel elevator. “You’re leaving the room tonight?” he ventured quietly.

“Obviously.”

“I’d feel better if you didn’t.”

Sam’s foot stopped midway up the first step. “Okay. What the hell?” He whirled on Dean irritably.

He slammed backward against the stairwell wall. The ice in his brother’s eyes was dangerous. Fear filled his stomach, and he dropped his duffle to grab for his knife, which shook badly in his hands.

The other man looked at the knife curiously. “Really?” He shook his head. “What is wrong with you?”

Dean found that he could not inhale. He made a choking sound that he could not keep from coming out. “I’m…not sure.”

“Something is definitely wrong with you. You’ve got some kind of…stupid sickness. You’ve caught something that’s made you stupid. You were bitten by a stupid monster and now you’re turning stupid.”

“Stop saying stupid!” Dean barked pitifully, then flinched as his voice echoed back at him. “Oh my god. The coven. Sam, the coven we cleaned out! You think they cursed me? Oh my god!”

Sam shook his head. “Yeah, Dean. They cursed you with stupid. I’m sure of it. And since we left one alive, she must still be working her magic!”

“We left one alive?” he shrieked.

“No!” Sam shouted back. “Of course not! I don’t leave monsters behind, Dean. You’re just being an idiot! You haven’t been cursed.”

Dean began to hyperventilate. “Maybe I was! You don’t know! Or maybe…We should call Bobby. Or maybe Castiel. Either way, I’m not going up there.” He sucked in his breath.

“Dean, if you don’t pull it together, I’m leaving you behind. Or I’ll assume you were bitten by a stupid monster, and I’ll hunt your ass so it doesn’t spread to me. I’m soulless, not brainless. I’d like to keep it that way.” Without another word, Sam began storming up the stairs.

With great effort, he brought his breathing under control, and managed to follow very slowly. By the time they got to their room, Dean was lightheaded. He dumped his things on the bed and sat down hard.

“Sleep or whatever. I’m going out. Sick of listening to you being weird.”

“Sam!”

The man sighed heavily, and turned to his brother with great aggravation in his eyes. “Dean, what?”

He licked his lips carefully. “Sam, something’s wrong. I can’t…I’m panicking. I can’t…What are we even doing? We messed around with witches just two days ago. What are we even doing now? Right?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

“This is seriously a bad idea. Everything we do is a bad idea. I mean come on, we hunt monsters! What the hell? I mean normal people, they see a monster and they run but not us. No, no, no. We search out the things that want to kill us. Huh? Or eat us! You know who does that? Crazy people! We are insane!”

Sam rolled his eyes. “No. I’m fine. You are stupid. I’m calling Bobby.”

A half hour later into Dean’s slow-burning panic attack, Sam hung up the phone and tossed a protein bar at his brother. Dean ducked and let it hit the wall behind him. Sam closed his eyes, as if the mere effort of being in the same room with Dean was draining him to the core.

“So Bobby’s got a theory.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Ghost sickness.”

“Ghost sickness? Oh god. No. I don’t even know what that is.”

Sam took a breath. “Dean, calm down. Deep breath, okay?” He waited in a facade of patience. “There, you feel better?”

Dean shook his head.

“So ghost sickness is apparently…look, I’m not going to repeat it all to you. Basically, you get anxiety, then you get terrified, something about hallucinations, then you die of an exploding heart. In about twelve hours. Something like that. I don’t know. Sucks.”

“Sucks? Sucks? That’s what you’re telling me? It sucks?”

Sam shrugged. “I imagine it does. For you. I don’t seem to be susceptible to it.”

“What are we going to do about it?”

The hazel eyes stared down at him. “We?”

“Yeah!” Dean shouted.

“Uh, it sounds like you’re headed for a heart attack, man. Again. And I’m not up for tracking a reaper to get you out of this one. So let’s talk about the Impala. Is it a problem if I sell it, or would you haunt me for that? Because I really would rather not have to hunt you.”

Dean’s mouth fell open. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest, and he watched the man who used to be his brother smile down at him with false sympathy. “You…”

“And does it feel like things are going to come to a head before midnight? I do have plans. And it’ll take me some time to salt and burn you. You understand.”

Hallucinations. Sam had mentioned hallucinations. This must be one. Please, dear Castiel, let this be one.

“So?”

“I…don’t know…” he whimpered.

Sam patted him on the back. “Okay, buddy. It’s okay. I’ll work out the details. Wanna watch some Eastwood or something? I’ll try to find you one with monkeys, okay? Except I think it’s a chimp. And I’ll break out some whiskey. Should take the edge off. What do you say?”

Dean swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he breathed numbly. “Yeah. Sounds…good…”

Sam smiled, gave his brother a sympathetic pat, then sat on the bed with the television remote in his hands, crossing his long legs comfortably in front of him.


End file.
